Pierce my Eyes
by FayCullen
Summary: Cynthia Brandon has planned a special day for her and her supposedly insane sister, Mary Alice Brandon, but after her day takes a nasty turn, it takes an even nastier one. Some vampire roots upturned and Alice's chilling last hours human.


Pierce my Eyes

_**I floated down the stairs like a ghost. Earlier I had heard a shriek that could have woken the dead, but I seemed to be the only one who responded in the slightest. I checked in Mother and Father's room. Mother was sitting up with her head in her hands, shaking as if she were weeping. Father wasn't there. A flicker of an oil lamp coming from the dining room caught my eye. It was placed just outside of Mary's room. I wasn't aloud to go in there. Never, ever, was I permitted to go in unless she was restrained. The door was open a crack, leaving just enough space to peek in and not be seen. I moved so slowly… it took me almost a minute to move the few inches to where I could see in. I peered in and wished I hadn't. Mary was tied to a strait-backed wooden chair in a stained strait jacket. Her head hung low, and I saw the blood dripping off the tangled, black locks of hair and a bruised and glistening wound at the top of her head. Father stood in front of her, wiping his bloody knuckles on a mottled old towel. I ran, screaming, back up to my room in the attic.**_

* * *

I woke with a start and my eyes snapped open. I hated that nightmare. I had it almost every other night and I continued to have the same reaction to it. Wake up, breathing hard, without the slightest proof of sleep. The hardest part about it, was that it was real. It had really happened. The horror story of that night haunted me wherever I went. I groaned and rolled over to bury my face into the pillows; as long as I got my face out of the stinging rays of sunlight coming through the window, I would be able to sleep a few extra minutes.

I sighed and turned over again. I knew it was hopeless trying to get some sleep now. Mother would be coming to wake me at any moment anyway. I went to my trunk in the corner of the room and picked out the clothes I needed aimlessly. To pass the time I thought of that fateful night.

I had only been seven at the time; Mary was five years older than I, so she was twelve. That was the first idea I had had of what went on in that room. Father was a middle class working man that supported his family successfully, even through the depression. He shaved every day and—at Mary's request—I warned him every day to not cut himself. He was strong, intelligent, and had the best work ethic I had ever seen in my life. Of course, every one who was able to work in our small, little family did. That included Mother, Father, and me. I had started working hours at the factory when I was ten, and working there is what helped me afford the gift I was going to give Mary.

I pulled the silver, heart-shaped locket out of the little felt bag I had asked the jeweler to put it in when I got it engraved. I had asked the engraver to put Mary's full name: Mary Alice Brandon. The smooth cursive was beautiful, and I was sure she would like it. It matched mine exactly, which said _my_ full name: Cynthia Ruth Brandon.

My middle name was named after my mother, Ruth Brandon. Father always called her Ruthie, though he only called her Ruth, or Mrs. Brandon, when we were in public or had guests over. Both Mother and Father were very formal in public; their social position was very important to them and they didn't want to do anything that would risk tarnishing their rank—no matter how small—in society.

I opened the door and skipped into the bathroom to wash my face and relieve myself. I looked at my reflection in the mirror quickly, to check that I hadn't missed anything important, like a curler or an eyelash on my cheek. My wavy, brown hair only went down to my earlobes and no longer. The factory forced the girls to do that so that our hair didn't get caught in the machines and kill us or something like that. I had never seen any major accidents. Only a broken bone here and there, but that had nothing to do with the machinery. My lips were thinner than most girls' and I always tried to sneak Mother's lipstick into my dress pocket to try to make them look fuller. Once I succeeded in plucking it out of her pocketbook and when I walked out of the bathroom Mother laughed so hard she nearly fell off of her chair. My spectacles were wire rimmed and round, but I wished that they could be more fashionable instead of having to be so plain and unnoticeable. However, when ever I tried to take them off or when I pointed a new pair out to Mother I would either run into a wall or lamppost, or I would immediately be denied by Father.

I heard the breakfast bell and I ran the last stretch of the staircase into the kitchen.

"Mmm, it smells wonderful Mother," I said while I sat down to my breakfast. It was only oatmeal, as usual, but I said this every morning.

Father came in and said the same thing, substituting wonderful for great. I smiled to myself and waited until Mother sat down to say grace and then dig in.

After a few bites of oatmeal, Mother turned to me. "Cynthia?" she asked. "How did you sleep?"

I smiled sweetly before answering, "I slept like I usually do Mother," and I took a sip of milk to get a chance to look away from her penetrating eyes.

"You had nightmares again, didn't you?"

"No!"

"That settles it; I am taking you to Dr. Cullen's house today and getting you some sleeping pills."

"Ruthie, leave her be." Father interrupted. "There is no need for sleeping pills if she is having only a few nightmares."

"She has them almost every night Christopher." She countered. My mother only called Father by his full first name when she was going to win an argument. "If we don't stop this she will never have a good night's sleep."

"It costs too much money."

"Dr. Cullen always puts the lowest of prices on his services and remedies. Barely 10 cents for a bottle of the best cough syrup. Usually that goes for 30 cents and up."

"Do you know how much a bottle of sleeping pills costs?"

"18 cents exactly. In the apothecary it casts almost a dollar."

"Don't I get a say in this?"

Their eyes turned to me. Mother's eyes were a little angry, but Father looked as if he were about to explode.

"I'm sorry," I said hastily. "I'll wait until I am spoken to next time."

Mother sighed and stood up to clear away our dishes. I looked at the time and realized I was about to be late to the factory. School might be out on Saturdays, but I still had an obligation to work.

After giving Father a kiss on the cheek and Mother a hug I ran out the door to my work place: The Biloxi Dress and Apron Factory. They said that they made the best garments for ladies west of Georgia, but in seeing the way that they made their clothing I knew that they were not the best of quality.

Waving to Miss Thewel as I came through the back entrance, I went to the time cards and punched in. Next came the apron and uniform room where we put on aprons and overdresses that another, better factory made so as to not "damage merchandise"; in the words of Mr. Oliver, the floor manager. Soon after we would go to the stations board and discover what station we were to go to that day. After that we would go to the main floor and get to work at our station and occasionally visit with friends when Mr. Oliver wasn't looking. It was here that I was lucky enough to have Gracie at the Looms Station with me that day.

The separate stations were sometimes separated by thick, dirty brick walls and the Looms Station was completely separate from all of the others. Gracie was supervising the threads in the huge looms so as to make sure they were never tangled. It was badly lit and hard to see, but children always did this best. With our tiny fingers and quick movements we could untangle the threads quickly enough to not have our fingers severed. At least that is what Mr. Oliver said.

Gracie hade been my best friend since grade school; we did everything together. Our mothers had supervised play dates when we were little and we had gone to each others' birthdays, and family traditions, and holidays. Especially when those events were saddened. Gracie's mother, Mrs. Everett—or Vicky, as she told me to call her—had gone missing a few years ago, and was now presumed dead; during those hard time I was at Gracie's house more than ever. After that it was easier to do things together without crying. Now, we would sometimes sneak out of our houses saying we were doing homework at the library when we really were going to the movies. Boy, did we love the movies.

I walked over and began working hastily. I didn't want Mr. Oliver to catch me being late to work.

"Good morning Gracie," I yelled over the machinery. It worked too quickly and loudly, but it worked effectively. Almost.

"How are you Cyndy?" Only Gracie and Mary called me by my nickname, because Mother and Father said they didn't want to give me too many ideas.

"I wish I didn't have to work, but overall I'm fine I guess."

"Another sleepless night?"

"How did you know!?"

"I know you too well, of course!"

Gracie's smile was dazzling, even in the dim light. She was one of the few people in town who had had braces on her teeth, and they were perfectly strait and white. She had refused to cut her beautiful red hair and she wore it either in a long braid down her back or in a hair net. It was a miracle that she hadn't been fired, but she was the best child worker they had, and they didn't really care about safety. There had never been an accident before.

"Oh, poo!" I said laughing. "You only know me as well as the back of your hand."

"So what are your plans for today? Are you doing anything with Mary when you get off work today?"

Mary was turning seventeen that day, and I wanted to do something special when I got off early. I hadn't told Mother, or Father, about the early day that Mr. Oliver had informed us of a week before.

"I bought her a locket to match mine with her full name on the back. Do you think she'll like it?"

"Oh, Cyndy, that's swell! She will definitely love it. You are so generous! Are you doing anything else?"

"Maybe the afternoon outside at the park? Or window shopping… you know what?"

"What?"

"I don't think that she has ever been outside before."

"Really? You aren't pulling my leg are you?"

"Of course not, Gracie! Why would I do that?"

"Well, if that's the case then you should just go and paint the town red!"

We giggled until Mr. Oliver came in and then went strait to working diligently and silently. He didn't like people talking. Gracie always managed to hush us before he came in. She was like her mother in how she could get out of scrapes so easily. I would always joke around with her and call her an escape artist.

"Oops!" Gracie exclaimed when she dropped her hair pin. She sometimes used it to help work through tough knots.

That day she was wearing her hair in a long braid. It fell over her shoulder when she went to pick up the hair pin and just the tip got into the machinery pulling the thread through…

Her shriek filled the entire room and the entire floor and the entire building. Her head jerked down with her hair and I grabbed her around the waste to keep her from being pulled completely in. She pulled her head back and screamed continually, the blood streaming down the side of her face in a terrible river of crimson that I wish to this day that I did not have to see. Her beautiful, beautiful hair was being ripped from her scalp, strand by strand, and the looms wouldn't stop! Her cries of agony wouldn't stop! It was all too much!

Finally, the machinery stopped whirring. Everybody was rushing over to Gracie and me, holding her in my arms while she screamed and cried. Mr. Oliver rushed over to us and tried to examine her head, the gaping wound that would not stop pouring out blood.

"We need to stop this!" I yelled at him. "Get a towel, anything! Please! We need to stop this!"

"AAAAAAH! CYNDY! CYNDY! MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE! MAKE IT STOP!" She kept saying this over and over again and I was weeping as I screamed, "Someone call for an ambulance! Get Dr. Cullen here quickly! Hurry!"

"Gracie, everything will be alright!" I said hurriedly. "I won't let this happen! I won't!"

"OOOOOOOOOOOH! CYNDY! GET HELP! PLEASE, HELP!"

The ambulance seemed to take a century to get there. I applied pressure to the most severe wound like Dr. Cullen had showed me to once and kept calling for more towels, clean towels that could sop up the blood without infection.

I rode with her all the way to the hospital. I saw Dr. Cullen there and I tried to follow after her, but I knew that it was too late. It was much too late. Gracie had stopped screaming when they took her out of the ambulance. She went unconscious after she had clung to me so ferociously I didn't even know if it was possible for her to die. But I knew that she was dead. My blood stained clothes proved it. The beautiful Gracie—my best friend—was going to die. And she did die, an hour after the accident of blood loss and extreme trauma. Even if Gracie was the greatest escapist I knew, aside from her mother, she could have never gotten out of this.

It had begun to rain that afternoon, and the cold raindrops mixed with my tears and washed the blood off of my glasses as I walked home and hid the traces of them when I went into the house. It was only 2 o'clock; only thirty minutes after my work day was supposed to have ended. Mother and Father weren't due home until at least five that evening. Now was the time to put on a happy face and take Mary outdoors for the first time in her life.

I changed out of my bloody clothes into the darkest, but happiest dress that I could find. Then I took the dress that I had taken from the factory out of the deepest corner of my trunk. I had been saving this for Mary for almost a month, and now was the time to use it.

The walk to the room was challenging. I was fighting back tears and trying my hardest to keep a smile on my face. I had wasted an hour of our time in taking a bath to rinse the gore off of my skin and I cried almost all of my tears there, but I still had plenty left. Believe me, there was now depression concerning my tears that day.

I opened the door and looked in on her. Her head was up expectantly, and she was smiling at me; even though she was restrained with a strait jacket in a dark little room, her remarkably violet eyes looked at me happily. But her expression changed quickly.

"Cyndy, I am so sorry about Gracie. I saw what happened a little. I really do want to make you feel better… but… I can't." She looked down in sorrow. With every word she said I knew that she meant it. Mary was the most sincere and good person I had ever known outside of Gracie, and I loved her more than anyone in our family.

"Thank you so much Mary…"—I paused to compose myself before I could start weeping again—"But today is your day. And I have a few things for you."

Her face lit up again. "What could you have possibly gotten me?"

She already knew. She saw things differently than people. She saw things in flickers before they happened. Sometimes things changed, sometimes they happened, but that was why she told me to warn Father. One day she had seen him on the floor with the long razor in his hands, a pool of blood beneath him; therefore I forewarned him everyday to be wary when he was shaving.

I sighed before coming up to her to untie her. "You already know, do I have to answer?"

"Yes."

"Fine. I got you a locket that matches mine. I really hope you like it."

When she was unstrapped she took a shaky step up. Everyday spent in a strait jacket on that chair had their effects. She was very short, shorter than me even though she was now seventeen and I was only twelve. But when she really walked she was like a dancer; her step was light and quiet, every movement calculated but interesting and new.

"Did you see the other surprise?"

"Actually… no." She stared at me questioningly. At last I had gotten around her sixth sense!

"You," I began while going to get the clothes I set behind the door. ", are going outside with me today."

Her little fingers touched the fabric with reverence. The white linen nightdress she wore was old and stained from how long she had been wearing it. "Really?"

"Yes."

I took her arm and lead her up to bathroom and bathed and dressed her. She loved the bath, in which I used fancy soap that made the air smell good and clean. I took my hairbrush and went through the beautiful, black tendrils of hair that went down her back. I used bobby pins on either side of her head to keep it out of her face.

"You see," I whispered in her ear, ", makeovers are always fun."

She was still speechless when I pulled her down the stairs and gave her my old coat that was too small for me, but fit her perfectly. The rain didn't affect her look of awe as she walked through the front door.

"Come on! We only have an hour left!"

We sprang onto the sidewalk and danced in the rain. I was still having a hard time thinking of Gracie, but Mary's euphoric attitude kept my spirits up as well. We went along Main Street and looked at the wondrous store fronts and window displays and she smiled from ear to ear where ever she looked. We finally chose to just pop into a clothing store; the finest clothing store in the city was the only one that she wished to go into.

There was a very small store of very high quality that had the name of May Amelia's. It had the nicest French labels that I had never been able to read, and it even carried a few shoes to go with the fancy dresses and even suits! It never went mainstream, but it was the nicest store that Biloxi, Mississippi had ever seen. Mary's eyes grew to be the size of saucers when she took in all of it. The store clerk smiled at her and inquired at her obvious innocence.

"She has never been in a store this wonderful," I told her quietly. She nodded in understanding and turned back to the hat display behind the register.

Mary turned when she heard the little bell above the door ring. I had forgotten that she had never heard music and was about to go over to her to explain it when her face went blank. I followed her gaze to the man at the door.

He was quite pale, and obviously wasn't from town. His clothes looked a little worn and the beautiful woman at his side should have been a movie star. Her red hair flowing down her back was slightly disheveled, like they had been running for a while, but she was gorgeous. She smiled at me—strait into my eyes—and I had the strangest feeling that Gracie's mother was near by. She looked so much like her….

But it must have been purely coincidence. I hadn't seen Vicky for years.

Their eyes were a strange color too, but I didn't get a clear look before Mary came up to me and grabbed my arm.

Clutching to me, she said, "We have to go. Now."

"But why, Mary?"

She never answered me, but dragged me out of the store without another word. Just as I turned to say good bye and thank you to the store clerk, the man turned and smiled at me. His teeth were perfectly strait, white, glistening. His smile was brighter than even Gracie's.

"Good bye." He said calmly, in a voice as chilling and as smooth as black ice.

When we made it out of the shop, Mary—with me in tow—broke into a run toward our house. At first I thought that I had lost track of time, but when I asked Mary she just began to cry.

"No… no!" she moaned through tears. "This can't be happening."

"What!? What is happening?"

When we burst through the door, Father was waiting. The liquor cabinet was ajar and a bottle of bourbon stood, half full on the table. Another, completely empty bottle of some other sort of alcohol lay on the floor.

I froze while Mary crumpled to the floor in a ball and began pulling at her hair. "No… no!"

The necklace I had given her earlier fell out of her shirt collar and cracked on the floor. It shimmered in the dingy light caused by the clouds, for it caught Father's eye.

He grabbed Mary and through her into the room, slamming her against the wall. He ripped the locket from her neck and yelled, "Did you buy this for her?"

"Yes." I whispered.

He came up to me and slapped me across the face. I could smell the spirits on his breath and saw the sheen of sweat on his brow. I was cut by the ear piece of my glasses. "I am tired of you sticking up for her!" He yelled in my face.

"No!" Mary screamed. "Not now! Something has happened! We're in danger!"

"Shut up, you little freak!" he slugged her across the face.

I ran in to examine Mary's face. A gash was left by his club ring.

"How could you, Father? How could you?"

"Oh, so you take the weirdo's side again, huh?"

I remained silent, staring into his eyes.

"Answer me!"

Mary just clung to her hair and sobbed, murmuring under her breath, "No… no… no."

"You don't like your pretty hair anymore? I'll give you something to hate!"

He ran from the room and came back with his sleeves rolled up, razor blade in hand.

I gasped, "No!"

He came at Mary and threw her to the chair. He snatched her hair and tugged it back sharply, the bobby pins protesting and digging into her scalp. Her cry of terror did nothing to stop him from taking the blade and taking jagged cuts out of her hair, making it almost as short as mine.

"No! Not her beautiful hair! Father, please!" I came toward him, my hand outstretched, and he only came down on it with the blade.

I jerked it back with a gasp, blood oozing out from the fingers I wrapped around the cut. He slapped me back to the wall and Mary struggled to get free.

He dug the razor into her shoulder, her following shriek filling the entire house. Her shouting only fueled his anger and her dug deeper, making new marks and grazes in multiple places.

"You humiliate me! You make me hide you and feed you when you do nothing but hurt me! You, this monstrosity that makes me fail in everything! You make your mother cry and weep for your demonic soul! I hate you! Every one hates you!"

"No!" I wailed. "Don't hurt her! Please, no!"

He flung the razor behind him and took me by the throat with his bare hands and slammed me to the concrete floor. My glasses were smashed, but I wasn't lucky enough to have the glass go into my eyes to make me blind. I would have been so grateful if it had.

"And you! You let her do this! You let her act this abominable way, and you love her! You! You disobey me and you let this little cretin act like a human being, when it is nothing!"

I tasted the blood in my mouth as he drove me down harder and harder. I finally lay motionless and senseless, barely able to see. But I still could. I continued to watch the mayhem lay before me by the grace of God above.

Mary was frantic; she was trying to run out but he took her by the neck and forced her into the wall. She screamed out in fear and terror as he tortured her by breaking her fingers and then her arm. He drove her into the ground next to me and then pounded her face. I watched him as he drove his thumbs into her beautiful eyes, those unforgettable violet eyes, and smash them like grapes. If only he had done that to me instead of letting me watch this horrific display.

"No Father! Please, no!"

He turned to me and began kicking me mercilessly in the ribs; I felt them crack beneath his steel toed boots and pierce through my skin. I screamed and cried out for help. I yelled for Gracie, for Mother, for Dr. Cullen, for Mary, anybody! But nobody came. He jumped on our legs until they broke, but no one replied to our shrieks and wailing. No one came to our aide. No one helped. No one. I slowly slipped into unconsciousness when Father hit me one last time. I clung to Mary and let myself slip away….

A piercing light drifted through my consciousness. I squinted to make it go away but a sharp pain in my head made me groan. I had more than a few injuries to cause the pain.

* * *

"Cynthia? Are you awake, Cynthia?"

The smooth voice of Dr. Cullen finally brought me back to reality. My eyes flew open and I sat up too quickly. Head spinning, I fell back onto the pillows to wait out the dizzy spells. I had the feeling that I was forgetting something of the most importance; I couldn't put my finger on what it was, exactly.

"Just lay back, Cynthia. Edward and I will take care of you."

My gaze fell on Dr. Cullen's son, who was rumored to be adopted, who was standing off to the corner of the room. It confused me that he was standing so far back, but then again I wasn't too easy to look at. And then I remembered.

"Mary!" I gasped. "Dr. Cullen, where is Mary? Is she alright? Oh, God, is she alright?"

He reached for a darkly tinted bottle inside of his leather doctor's bag and asked me, "Who is Mary? Are you thinking of Gracie?"

And then it hit me again. Gracie was dead. And I had also forgotten that Dr. Cullen didn't know about Mary, really. Only having lived in Biloxi for a month or two, he hadn't heard much of the town gossip, being in the hospital or in his small pharmacy for most of the day and night. It was the shadiest place I had ever been. Not a curtain was pulled away from the window to let the sun come in, but it was miraculously well lit.

"No, Mary," I said in a sudden panic. "She's my sister. She never gets to go out. She's insane, and I'm so worried! Father was hurting us so badly; I need to know what happened!"

Dr. Cullen looked at his son, and for the first time I noticed that he was as good looking, maybe more, as the doctor. He had a strange hair color, but his eye color looked like Dr. Cullen's, and he was just as pale. But he didn't hold my interest for more than a few moments. His aloofness scared me.

He nodded to his father and then Dr. Cullen excused himself and walked out of the room with Edward in tow. I looked around at the room where I had been put in since the heavy beating I had received.

It was clearly a hospital room. The metal bed frame and white washed walls gave it away immediately, and the hideous smell of death, medication, and terrible food filled the room. A tube or two came out of my arm, but other than that I was left alone with my thoughts. I had too many to control.

First off was that Gracie was gone. I hadn't had the proper time to grieve the day before and now an abrupt wave of sorrow enveloped me. To top off the perfect combination of stress, Mary and had been beaten nearly to death, and she was nowhere to be seen. Father probably hadn't even taken her to the hospital. I made the decision to find out on my own time when I was able to stand again, let alone sit up without becoming nauseous.

I attempted bringing myself upright again and fell back again. I was too dizzy to stay conscious again. I fell asleep while I felt a cold hand checking my pulse.

* * *

I was trying to make it down the stairs quietly, with barely any success. I was so lucky that both of my parents were heavy sleepers; do to the ruckus that their snoring made.

My plaster cast and bandages didn't give me much aide in the task at hand; I barely could manage hopping over the creaky step at the bottom of the stairs. I slid on my behind to the room. Pulling myself up by the doorknob, I was afraid to look inside at the wreckage that was sure to be there. It was only the first day that I had been allowed home from the hospital—I could finally sit up—and I knew that I had to act fast if I were to get any information.

The door opened with less than a whisper, revealing nothing. Brick blocked my way to the contents that had once been within; I pressed firmly against them and there wasn't any protest from the red face that shut me out of the room that had once been Mary's cell. The mortar was till a little damp around the edges, so it had to have been fairly recent. The bricks were obviously new, but not the most expensive or highest of quality. The color was a little dingy, they were a little flaky around the edges, but if I could pound against them with all of the force I could muster without waking my parents and not make even the slightest impact, the must have been new. All of the carnage that had happened a few days before had been erased with only a simple brick wall; all evidence of abuse hidden by a simple object.

I closed the door softly; I couldn't stand to look at the wall any longer. I hopped lightly to a chair at the table and sat down to think. As I was taking a seat, a paper underneath the chair leg was brought to my attention. It was folded messily and I had to slide off of the chair to reach it. My hands trembled as I read the finely typed words on the page.

_BILOXI CITY ASYLUM_

_Dear Mr. Brandon,_

_We thank you for your admission and donation to this institution, and we guarantee that the thing will be taken care of as you took care of it. We assure you, the latest measures of Electro-shock treatment will be used and we will enforce habits that are less abnormal than the usual with it._

_Sincerely, Mr. Joshua Mariner; Asylum founder and Manager_

I stared in horror at the two sentences that filled barely a third of the page. Tears slipped from my eyes and made the ink blotch and I fought to control the sobs racking through my body.

That morning while Mother and Father were at work I tried on my crutches and hobbled the mile and a half out to the asylum, determined to look up Mary and see what they were doing to her; if possible I would get her out. The building towered over me like a giant that would soon swallow me up if I took a step (or a hobble, in my case) closer. I worked up the courage and approached the large gilded doorway and rang the bell.

Promptly three seconds later a doorman opened the door without a word and gestured me in.

"Excuse me Sir, but where is the information desk?"

He pointed to an oak desk at the end of the hall where a tired nurse was filling out paperwork.

The hall was designed to be like an echo chamber so the scuffling sound of my crutches on the tile floor reverberated around the whole room. I was intimidated by the drains along the wall and the dark stains around them.

The nurse looked up from her paperwork, which I realized was a Cosmopolitan Magazine quiz that she was carefully filling out. Trying to figure out what type of man would be best for her or some idiotic thing like that. "Good morning. I came to inquire about one of the…"—I paused to search for the right word—", patients."

"Which one of the monsters do you want to look up?" she replied sassily. I immediately loathed the very made-up sight of her. Her make up was much too heavy for just a nurse.

"The 'monster' I am referring too is my sister, and she is not anything close to that. Her name is Mary Alice Brandon, and was most likely admitted on Tuesday."

"Well I am sorry if you are in denial, but your sister is a freak. Anyone who is put in this place is."

"Then you must be including yourself; after all, you look as if you must be here for most of the day and night. You certainly look to be at home."

"Why, you little—"

"Would you please look up my sister so that I do not call your supervisor?"

She glared at me and mumbled an oath under her breath while she turned to a file cabinet behind her. A manila folder slapped onto the desk in front of me and she quickly thumbed through it, turning it to face me.

"She died a few hours after she came. The Electro-shock therapy was too much for her and the doctor taking care of her took her to the morgue to perform an autopsy. We weren't certain if she died from all of the injuries given to her before or after when she came here was what killed her."

My eyes refused to shut. I nearly collapsed right then and there. The coroners note was right there and I couldn't register anything. The only thing that I asked was, "Was she buried? Properly? With a grave, and everything?"

She sighed. "Yes, we have an obligation to because some kook demanded we do it and somehow got Mr. Mariner to agree to it. If you're wondering where it is, we bury them behind the Church of Michael the Archangel, you know, the patron saint of the sick. It was that dumb doctor's idea. He was the one that took care of your 'sister', or whatever you want to call her."

"Thank you."

I hobbled out, stuck in my head and all of the screaming that my brain couldn't comprehend enough to make out my mouth. The iron gates were up ahead, and I was vaguely aware of the person who pushed them aside for me. I barely even noticed when it started raining again. When I finally looked back, he was there.

The person that started it all. The man that was in May Amelia's and that had made Mary panic. Now I knew what she was afraid of. He was looking away but I could see his eyes now. They were a deep crimson, almost the color of….

I turned and staggered away again. I knew he would come after me if I did anything but go away like I was before. It would draw his attention, and I couldn't have that.

Father was at the table when I came in. I wiped off my glasses on my clothes, so they were smudged even further by my soggy dress.

"Out for a walk?"

"Mary is dead."

"What?"

"I hope you are proud of yourself."

"Hold on."

I interrupted him. "You clearly didn't care about her enough not to kill her, and you didn't care about me enough not to blind me along with her. I know where her grave is. If you want to come, later today I'm going there and burying the locket with her. I would like it back now."

That was the most words that I had ever said to my father without him shutting me up. I held out my hand and he placed the locket in my hand jerkily. It was crusted with blood but it came off when I rubbed it against my dress.

"On second thought, I'm going now. Good bye." My icy voice was marked with the glazed look in my eyes as I turned away from him.

I continued on my way to the church the nurse had spoken of. The Curch of Michael the Archangel was a rundown building that only the oldest people in the neighborhood went too. The services were in Latin and they didn't accept donations. Stained glass that was once in thrilling shades of blue, yellow, green, and red now were knocked out and boarded up; the door's carvings were covered in knife marks and painted graffiti all over it. Mother always said to avoid it at all costs, but I went there for confession and on Wednesday afternoons.

When I came in I blessed myself with holy water and lit a candle for first Mary, then Gracie. Both terrible deaths filled with pain and trepidation.

I limped outside and started to make my way into the graveyard. Her grave was easy to spot, one of the newest by the entrance from the church. My crutches stuck in the ground, and I left them and crawled to Mary's grave. There it was, in simple font:

MARY ALICE BRANDON

1929-1946

No glorification, no loving words; there was nothing to remember her personality, her emotions, hopes, and dreams. Only I knew those. And shockingly, to the right of Mary's grave was Gracie's. Her middle name was a hand-me-down, like mine, from her mother.

GRACE VICTORIA EVERETT

1934-1946

Smile brightly, love.

I wished that Gracie's mother could have been able to see it. My tears stained the fresh earth over their final resting places. Barely two feet apart, and neither had ever met. I hoped that in their places in heaven they got to see me doing this for them. For Mary and Gracie. Both of them; the two people I loved most dearly in this world.

I dug a small plot of land with a tree branch and laid the locket inside, burying it a foot down so no one would find it easily but them. And then I wept.

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_**I awoke with a start at my mother's scream. I clambered down the stairs as best I could with the cast on my leg to see what could have aroused such a reaction. Tripping on the last step I fell to the floor and Mother screamed again. I saw her at the door of the room. The bricks were gone from the door way, scattered all over the floor. I scrambled up and to her side. My eyes met what I had seen in my dreams since Mary's first premonition of it when I was eight. A mirror was hung on the wall; my father lay on the floor in a pool of his own blood; the razor blade lay a few inches from his right hand; a long cut across his neck bled out onto the concrete. I stepped into the room and picked up the note. I pressed my fingers to his neck. No pulse. I limped away to the telephone and handed it to my mother. I climbed back into bed and slept soundly for the first time since I was seven years old.** _

'Twilight' © Stephenie Meyer

'Pierce my Eyes' © FayCullen

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**This is the last hours of Alice's human years. I am sorry if it is too graphic, but I am quite proud of this one. I hope there weren't too many horizontal rulers to confuse you, heh heh.**

**Say hello to my friend Rosette-Cullen, who inspired me to write.**

**Don't forget to review!**


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